


I Want To Go With the One I Love

by Draco_sollicitus



Series: What's Left of Kisses [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Dimensions, Angst, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Dimension Travel, Endgame who?, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Past Experimentation, Romance, Smut, Steve Rogers Will Fight Anyone - Including himself, Steve is Retired, Teacher Bucky Barnes, Time Travel, Two-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-23 00:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draco_sollicitus/pseuds/Draco_sollicitus
Summary: It's a normal life, and a happy one, for Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Sure, it's been raining cats and dogs for weeks on end, and those cats and dogs have been rainingsideways, but that has very little to do with their quiet, happy, normal life.Steve Rogers, freshly retired and happily settled down, doesn't want to be brought back into any Avengers or SHIELD nonsense, but when Nicholas Fury approaches him one day in the middle of an inexplicable weather phenomenon, the nature of a certain 'cosmic issue' turns out to be a little too personal for him to ignore.(AKA the one where Endgame!Steve travels to a different dimension with the stones and bumps into a happy, retired version of himself and then questions his decisions post-snap).





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Welcome back to those of you who've followed me through parts one and two of this series - this one is much fluffier in content than the previous two installations, and I'd like to believe I left enough backstory and comments here and there that this could be read as a standalone! 
> 
> If you're new to the series, and don't mind spoilers (and have zero intention of wading through 170k words of absolute angst), or you're returning to the series and forgot some things, there's a recap in the end notes, so click ahead if you'd like those spoilers/those reminders!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky enjoy their quiet life after Steve hands the shield to Sam; trouble isn't far behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _warnings_  
Smut (Between two loving, consensual adults) ahead!
> 
> References to past angst, but no current angst (in this chapter) 
> 
> Keep an eye on next chapter's warnings!
> 
> **notes**  
One line indicates a time jump/scene change
> 
> There's two lines in a row towards the end of the chapter - that indicates a POV shift from Bucky to Steve (I've been using asterisks, but I heard those are awful for screen reader apps, so I'm trying this out!)

Bucky Barnes likes to call 2016 “The Year of What the Fuck,” which, of course, generates a variety of responses from his friends.

Tony insists that humor is a healthy coping mechanism (he whispers it, of course, when Pepper’s done giving Bucky a _ I don’t approve of your glib attitude but I’m too kind-hearted to tell you how upsetting your glib attitude is _ look), and Clint insists that Bucky isn’t putting enough expletives in the title to begin with - and Steve will look sad around the edges before wrapping Bucky up in a beefy armed hug and kissing the side of his head, murmuring promises that 2017 is going to be a much better year.

And it _ is _better. 

The bar is admittedly low, because it’d be pretty damn hard for 2017 to be shittier than 2016, as long as Bucky avoids: being kidnapped by his shitty ex-boyfriend and a coterie of Nazi fuckwads; being experimented on by said ex-boyfriend and Nazi fuckwards; developing unwanted superpowers; breaking up with the love of his life over an unintentional but harrowing betrayal; having his superpowers exposed in a global social media clusterfuck; and, reuniting with the love of his life only to have him be captured and drained of his superpowers and superhealth (albeit temporarily).

Yeah, so, 2017 generally avoids _ that _level of fuckery for the first part of the year. The year is going pretty well, honestly, and Bucky’s more than happy to get his hopes up about the second half of the year. After all, he’s engaged to the love of his life, the love of his life has retired from his exhausting job in the public eye, and they’ve settled down into a life of domesticity that makes friends who shall remain unnamed (but typically respond to the name Hawkeye and the promise of food) mutter under their breath about them being disgustingly sweet in front of his salad.

The first six months of 2017 really knock it out of the park, in terms of a lack of threat to Bucky’s safety and happiness, but then of course, _ things _ start happening again.

Bucky really hates _ things _.

It all starts back up again when it begins to rain sideways.

* * *

“Babe?” Bucky rubs a hand over his tired eyes and squints out the window. “...Is it raining sideways?”

“Huh?”

There’s a thud behind him, and Bucky turns around, hand already on his hip, to scowl at his fiance. 

“I told you to let me help with that!”

Steve doesn’t look the least bit guilty as he pats the back of the mid-century sofa he just hauled into the common area.

“This thing’s built to last, Buck, don’t worry about it.”

“Our floors aren’t as sturdy as the couch!” Bucky fusses, already stooping down to squint at the hardwood. 

Sure enough, scuff marks. Bucky doesn’t say a word, just points at them and glowers up at Steve, the power of his glare lost when the corners of his lips quirk up at the expression Steve’s wearing.

It’s just so … soft. Asshole.

“What?” Bucky pulls the sleeve of his sweater over his hand and paws at his chin. “Do I got somethin’ on my face?”

“Yeah.” Steve rests his elbows on the back of the sofa and smiles down at him dreamily. “Whole lotta handsome.”

“Sap.” Bucky shakes his head and stands up straight again, back to frowning. “The floor, Rogers. The floor! We just moved in, and we’re already losing the security deposit.”

Steve squints down at the spot Bucky had indicated and shrugs serenely. “It’ll buff out.” 

“It’ll--” Bucky scoffs before Steve comes around the front of the sofa. He frowns at him suspiciously. “What are you doin’, Rogers?”

“Can’t I give my best guy a kiss?” Steve’s already smiling like he won, so of course Bucky takes two steps back.

“Depends on what you do after you give me a kiss.” Bucky really can’t even pretend to frown anymore, and his smile leaks into his scolding tone, softening it into something else entirely. “Last time you just wanted a kiss, you put paint in my hair.”

“You looked cute,” Steve insists, following Bucky across the floor. 

Bucky smirks and walks backward until he bumps up against the wall next to the window, the humidity of the day leaking through. He lets Steve stand in front of him, tries not to lean up into Steve’s warmth - he’s like the fucking sun, Bucky swears, even on the dreariest day in June - watches as Steve puts his arm up on the wall over Bucky’s head so he’s leaning down even more into Bucky’s space. He gets lost in Steve’s eyes for an amount of time that could be embarrassing, and would be embarrassing if not for the way Steve’s pupils win out over the blue, if not for the way Steve’s cheeks tint with a bright pink, if not for the way Steve’s so obviously staring at him too. 

“Thought you were gonna give me a kiss?” Bucky asks, his voice hoarser than is particularly dignified. 

“‘M gettin’ there,” Steve mutters, his eyes trailing a path along Bucky’s face, and then down his body, his expression more than appreciative. 

“Yeah?” Bucky doesn’t want to squirm, but he’s sure he does because Steve lets out a laugh that’s all air, and it’s like all the air’s gone from the room in response. “When d’you think you’ll get there?”

“Eventually.” Steve ducks his head down, and Bucky sucks in a breath, but Steve just noses his temple, along his jaw, ending at his neck and pulling away before he puts his lips on heated skin. “Let me take my time with you, babydoll.”

“Steve,” Bucky hisses, and hissing is much tougher than whining, yep, he’s sticking with it. 

He can’t excuse the way he tilts his hips forward, or the noise he makes in his throat when Steve uses the hand not propped up on the wall to grip his hip with a dark chuckle, squeezing with a kind of pressure that makes the room even hotter than it was a minute ago. 

“Do you think your dastardly plan’s going to make me forget that you banged up our floor?”

“Dastardly?” Bucky can hear Steve’s grin, even as he skims his nose along Bucky’s shoulder with a painful slowness that’s starting to feel damn near cruel. “You think I’m gonna have my wicked way with you?”

“I’m thinking you better,” Bucky grumbles, gripping Steve’s back and trying to pull him in. 

Normally, getting Steve to do something is like pulling a stubborn ox with a fear of heights up a mountain, but he steps in easily enough, and Bucky tries to turn his head to entice Steve into giving him that kiss (because it’s been long enough, damnit, and if they’re not going to unpack their shit, they might as well make out). 

Steve pauses a second later, and Bucky’s about to give him grief when his fiance hums thoughtfully. 

“I think it _ is _raining sideways.”

Bucky twists away from the wall to look out the window, and Steve takes half a step backwards to accommodate him; the rain is definitely lashing at the glass sideways, and the people down below look as confused as Bucky feels.

“What do you think that’s about?” Bucky asks, frowning up at Steve.

“No idea.” Steve shrugs and then crowds into Bucky’s space again, his eyes drowsy with something that makes Bucky’s gut tighten. “I got more important questions on my mind.”

“Questions like…?”

“Like, would my gorgeous, wonderful fiance mind it so much if I made love to him on a mattress that doesn’t have sheets on it yet?”

Bucky smirks if only to cover up how very interesting he finds that idea. “Is that a promise?”

Steve’s laughing when he grips Bucky by the back of his thighs and lifts him up; he’s not laughing when Bucky wraps his legs around his waist and kisses him (because he’s waited long enough, damnit) as they stumble backwards for the bedroom. 

Bucky doesn’t care when Steve accidentally bumps him into a wall, and he bites Steve’s neck with an admitted lack of gentleness when Steve won’t stop fussing about potential concussions; but, he can’t stop his natural snark from leaking out when they finally make it to the edge of the mattress, which had been dumped unceremoniously onto the floor of the bedroom earlier that day by an exhausted Clint and Sam. 

“I swear, Rogers, if you drop me like I’m the fucking sofa, there will be consequences.”

Steve pulls away to look at Bucky with a serious expression that makes Bucky’s throat go dry. “I’d never drop you.” 

The promise inside it feels heavier than the moment has so far, but when Steve kisses him a second later, it twists back into a familiar playfulness; Steve lowers Bucky with an exaggerated level of caution, and he presses him into the mattress with a slow roll of his hips that suggests that he might be taking things at a pace that doesn’t involve getting his dick into Bucky with an agreeable speed. 

Bucky tugs Steve’s t-shirt free from his jeans, muttering about _ who tucks their shirt in when it’s ninety fuckin’ degrees, _and skates his hands over the firm planes of Steve’s stomach, marveling at the muscles which have returned with Steve’s strength.

Honestly, Bucky would love Steve no matter what his body looked like, and as awful as those months were when Steve was sick again, he can’t help but notice that now Steve _ believes _Bucky when he says as much, when he never had before. 

Steve runs his hands through Bucky’s hair, which is down for once, and near-curly in the day’s humidity, and Bucky hums and tilts his hips up appreciatively when Steve’s blunt nails scratch at his scalp.

“Get this off,” Bucky orders, tugging at Steve’s shirt and biting his bottom lip.

If there was any blue left in Steve’s eyes, it’s gone now as Steve growls in response, kneels upright, and yanks his shirt off by the back of his collar; his massive hands move to his belt buckle for good measure and pull it free of the loops in his jeans. Bucky scrambles to sit up to help unbutton his pants, and Steve pulls Bucky’s shirt over his head with only a bit of difficulty when it catches briefly.

They’ve done this hundreds of times, Bucky thinks dizzily as they fall back to the mattress, his fingernails leaving marks that will quickly fade on Steve’s back, hundreds of times, but with Steve’s hands on his body and his insistent kissing, it feels like that first time - and wasn’t it a lifetime ago that Bucky let Steve in, that he let himself fall in love even though it sometimes felt like the beginning of a tragedy, that he let himself trust that he could have this one good thing - and it’s with a trust that’s only grown in the last year and a half that Bucky lifts his hips and lets Steve pull his shorts down, his clever fingers pulling his boxers down in the same movement. 

He kicks his pants off before Steve’s on top of him again, his kisses greedy and stealing the breath from Bucky’s lungs, and Bucky gets as close as he can to free of any thoughts or anxiety when Steve’s fingers work him open with the help of the bottle of lube that’s so conveniently in the backpack discarded next to the mattress. 

“Did you plan this?” Bucky asks with a laugh, his face a shade of red that Steve insists is beautiful.

“Nah.” Steve’s wearing that ridiculously fond expression again, the one that makes Bucky’s toes curl (and they curl again when Steve pushes inside him and starts to thrust with a determined sort of tenderness). “Nah, just luck.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling for half a beat and then lets his eyes slip shut when Steve buries his face in his neck and whispers, “So fuckin’ lucky, babydoll,” his hips rolling to accent every other word, “So lucky-”

Tears slide hot and unexpected from his eyes, and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, his hand tangling in Steve’s hair, which is darker and longer than it was when he carried the shield. 

“Hey.” Steve kisses the tracks left by the tears, his tongue curling around Bucky’s earlobe to catch the last one, and Bucky’s breath hitches from the intimacy of it. “You okay?” 

His thrusts slow to the point of stopping when he asks, and Bucky locks his legs around Steve’s waist, digging his heels into his ass as much as he can while still being moderately polite.

“Don’t stop.” Bucky turns his head for a kiss, opening his eyes to smile up at Steve - whose expression softens even more when Bucky looks at him. His lips slide over Bucky’s as his hips start to roll forward again, this time with his cock striking up against the spot that makes sparks dance behind Bucky’s eyelids; into the kiss, Bucky whispers, “I’m just happy, Stevie. ‘M so happy.”

And a few seconds later, something warm drops onto Bucky’s jaw; when he reaches up, his fingertips brush over the wetness on Steve’s cheeks, the tears that are disappearing into his beard.

“I love you.” Steve doesn’t try to explain why he’s crying, and Bucky knows it’s for the same reason he is, but it carves him open anyway.

“I love you so much,” Bucky answers, tilting his hips up to meet Steve’s thrusts, a rough sound tearing from his throat when the new angle lets Steve in so much deeper. 

They love each other - and isn’t that the biggest goddamned miracle of all, that they found each other, and love each other, and are allowed to have this. It’s overwhelming and humbling at the same time, and Bucky makes himself keep his eyes open so he can look at Steve while he fucks into him. 

He strokes his hands over Steve’s face, smiling at the juxtaposing textures, the softness of his skin, the scratchy hairs of his beard, the slippery hot tears that still escape from his eyes now and then; Steve catches him by the left hand, the hand that wears a silver ring, and presses a kiss into the thin skin inside his wrist before letting go and reaching between their bodies to wrap his large, hot hand around Bucky’s cock.

“Nah.” Bucky swats at his hand affectionately and shakes his head. “Just wanna feel you.”

“I’m close,” Steve says with a laugh that’s sweetly embarrassed, his eyes red-rimmed and cheeks flushed. “Real close.”

“Don’t care.” Bucky leans up to kiss him, and Steve lets him go, but continues thrusting. “This is enough.”

Steve nods and ducks his head down, lowering himself onto Bucky as his thrusts pick up. Bucky keeps on hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other tangled in his hair, his legs splayed out now as dizzying pressure builds at the base of his spine as Steve’s thrusts grow desperate.

“I love you,” Steve chokes out, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck again. Bucky kisses Steve’s head, tries to kiss his shoulder, probably misses but doesn’t care because there isn’t anything in the world but Steve, Steve above him and inside him - “I love - _ Buck _-”

There’s a longer pause than normal as Steve stays close to Bucky, his face pressed into his neck, breathing shaky. Bucky doesn’t care, just appreciates the way Steve feels inside him, and he pulls his hands through Steve’s hair some more, contentment winning out over his need for a release of his own.

With a groan, Steve pushes himself up and kisses Bucky senseless before sliding back on his knees, his cock slipping out of Bucky more than half-hard and still leaking - and after he drops down to press kisses into Bucky’s upper thighs, he wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock and looks up expectantly.

“May I?”

“Y-yeah,” Bucky exhales and then groans as Steve swallows him down, moving expertly, his hand covering what his mouth can’t, and it’s a very quick amount of time later that Bucky’s back is arching as he hisses something in a combination of Romanian and English.

“That sounded promising,” Steve drawls, wiping his mouth clean and leaving his head on Bucky’s hip. “Care to translate?”

“It means _ my fiance is trying to kill me, _” Bucky mutters, and Steve smiles up at him, his lips swollen and his fingers already stroking up and down his side playfully. 

“That was only round one,” Steve muses.

“Nope.” Bucky grips Steve’s hand as it makes another pass below his waistline. “Not until we finish unpacking.”

“I accept that challenge.” Steve kisses the sharp ridge of Bucky’s hipbone firmly and leaps up from the mattress - he staggers to the side for a second before righting himself, and Bucky snorts a laugh at the sight of a naked Steve Rogers trying to walk on sex legs.

“That good, huh?” Bucky props his head up on his hand to smirk at him.

“The best,” Steve winks over his shoulder before ducking into the living room. “I’ll have this unpacked in less than an hour - time me!”

(Bucky does time him; and it takes him 64 minutes, something Bucky doesn’t let him forget, even when he’s collapsed on Steve’s chest, panting wildly after riding him for nearly half as long)

* * *

Every summer, Bucky tells himself that he’s going to get all his shit together for the school year and do it in style while also making time for improving his mental health, working on his summer bod, and killing it on social media. Every summer he tells himself this. Every. Summer.

So, it comes as no surprise that a random Thursday in June finds him lying with his head pointing towards the ground, feet up on the back of his sofa, trying to watch a Friends episode upside down while accepting a large bite of Rocky Road from Clint, who’s sprawled out on the floor next to him.

“Fuck.” Bucky splutters as he curls upright, his feet hooked hard on the back of the sofa, his abs barely feeling the strain as he hauls himself up. 

“Can’t swallow upside down,” Clint declare with an annoying amount of _ I told you so _built in.

He doesn’t even look away from the screen to tell Bucky this, and Bucky rolls his eyes as he coughs through a vicious brainfreeze.

“No, I cannot.” Bucky flattens himself down on the cushions, swinging his legs down to tuck under the tasteful throw pillows he bought from a Homegoods with Steve a few months ago. “You might want to sound less full of yourself.”

Clint offers him a one-shouldered shrug. “I tried to warn you.” 

“Did you?” Bucky sits up enough to snag the carton of ice cream from Clint, ignoring his grunt of protest. “_ Did _you try to warn me?”

“I might have forgotten to…”

“Forgotten to what, buddy?”

“Forgotten to … say it out loud.” Clint shrugs again and tilts his head back onto the cushions, his mouth wide open.

Bucky shovels an appropriately disgusting amount of ice cream into his friend’s waiting mouth.

“Love ya, babe,” Clint says through a mouthful of dairy product. 

Lucky hops up on the couch next to Bucky, and he has no choice but to offer a bite of ice cream to the big-eyed mutt. 

“Your dog needs to stop eating human shit.” Bucky prods Clint on the back of the head and repeats the statement when Clint frowns, clearly having missed what he said. 

“You fed my dog shit?”

“Never-ugh.” Bucky shakes his head and glances out the window. His frown turns thoughtful. “Do you think it’s ever going to stop raining?”

“I think, meteorologically speaking, it has to,” Clint offers, returning his attention to Ross and Rachel fighting on screen.

“Yeah, but it’s still raining wrong.” Bucky drops his head back down and huffs grumpily. “And I want to go to the beach.”

“We can go to the beach.”

“It’s raining, Clint.”

“So? You’re gonna get in the water anyway, aren’t you?” Clint throws his hands up affably, and what little light comes through the window catches on his wedding band, which he’s finally wearing regularly after two years of marriage (Nat, conversely, never wears hers, but she does wear an arrow necklace that speaks for itself).

“What about lightning?” Bucky asks, just to be contrary because he’s grumpy and stuck inside and he should be planning a wedding on top of all the other stuff he’s supposed to be doing on summer break, but instead he’s eating his weight in ice cream and watching sitcoms.

“We can ask Thor to turn that off.” Clint sounds much more confident than Bucky would expect, and it throws him slightly.

“...Thor can do that?”

“No harm in asking.” 

“Huh.”

Bucky’s spared the potentially mortifying experience of calling Thor (does Thor even have a phone? He can’t remember) to ask him not to let him or Clint get smited on the beach when he hears the lock to the front door turn.

“Hey, babe!” Clint calls out, not even turning his head. 

Bucky shoves his shoulder playfully. “That’s my line, jackass.” 

“I got there first,” Clint says as Steve walks into the living room, arms full of paper bags from the farmers’ market, his hair and leather jacket wet from the rain, a sight good enough to make Bucky’s mouth go dry. “He’s my fiance now.”

“As if!” Bucky smiles up at Steve, who looks down at the two of them, sprawled out and thoroughly enjoying the laziness of a summer Thursday afternoon. “Stevie, tell him he’s wrong.”

“...Clint, what are your thoughts on The Bachelor?” Steve asks instead, ignoring the ferocious scowl he gets from Bucky.

“Don’t watch it. Never had the urge to watch it.” Clint shrugs.

“Alright.” Steve shifts a bag in his arms and grins down at Bucky, the smile making his eyes all crinkly - the effect of which is annoyingly adorable so Bucky can’t even get mad. “I’ll call the coordinator and let ‘em know that we gotta change all the invitations to say Steve Grant Rogers and Clinton Danger Barton will be getting married this December.”

“You think my middle name is _ Danger _?” Clint asks, hopping up on his knees with a delighted smile.

“You’re going to leave me for _ Clint _?” Bucky asks with slightly less enthusiasm and a lot more irritation.

“You told me it was?” Steve smiles politely at Clint, and Bucky really can’t tell if Steve is shitting them or not. “And, he doesn’t watch the Bachelor, you heard the man. It’s your one flaw, Buck. I can’t ever sit through another Nick. I can’t do it. Not again. I’m not … strong enough.”

“But Lindsay is a phenomenal Bachelorette!” Bucky splutters, for a moment legitimately insulted despite Steve’s attempt at using the Mr. Incredibles meme. “I caught you going through her twitter last night!”

“I am in the middle of a fight I don’t want to be in.” Clint lies back down on the floor and pats his stomach until Lucky jumps down on top of him. “I just want to get married and become Clint Danger Barton-Rogers.”

“Don’t you mean Clint Danger Barton-Rogers-Romanov?” Steve dumps a bag on the small end table and begins digging through it.

“Fair enough.” Clint waves an airy hand, seeming unbothered by the technicality. 

“I’ll call the coordinator and let them know of the switch,” Bucky declares, pulling his Stark Tech phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his contacts. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear it.”

“No!” Steve freezes, hand in the grocery bag, eyes wide with panic, and Bucky grins at him, phone already next to his ear. “No, that really can’t go well-”

“Pietro?” Bucky smiles evilly at Steve. “Pietro, dear, Steve is leaving me for Clint. Mhm. Yep. Wedding is still on - yes, that’s correct. Oh! And Clint says he _ really _doesn’t like the color swatches you picked out--”

There’s a banging on the door which effectively cuts Bucky off; he lowers the phone while maintaining eye contact with Steve.

“I think that’s for you,” Bucky says cheerfully. 

On the floor, Clint tugs a pillow towards him and covers his face with it.

“_STEVEN GRANT ROGERS. OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!” _

“In a second, Pietro!” Steve calls over his shoulder. With a scowl that doesn’t match the fondness in his eyes, Steve pulls a small cardboard carton out of the paper bag. “I got your plums, jerk.”

“Thanks, punk.” Bucky sits up to take the carton and kisses Steve sweetly. “I think you better let Pietro in.”

There’s a loud rapping on the window behind him, and he and Steve turn to look at it at the same time; Pietro Maximoff is standing there in the pouring (sideways, still sideways, what the fuck) rain, platinum hair plastered to his head, a scowl sharp enough to cut glass on his face.

“STEVEN!”

“Hey, Pietro.” Steve walks over to the window and unlatches it with the barest hint of reluctance. “Come on in.”

With the barest sensation of a breeze, Pietro’s already standing next to the couch, dripping water down onto a suddenly squawking Clint. 

“The interloper himself!” Pietro declares, seventeen years old and the picture of righteous fury. “I should have known!” 

“No. Pietro. Wait. It’s a misunderstanding,” Clint deadpans, not removing the pillow from his face.

“They have true love!” Pietro nudges Clint with his foot when he doesn’t respond. “True! Love!’

“Pietro, Steve was only kidding when he said he was going to leave me.” Bucky pulls a plum out of the carton and examines it before taking a bite. “Don’t worry, the Rogers-Barnes wedding will continue as planned.”

“Oh.” Pietro visibly deflates and then smiles brightly; it’s like the sun comes out from behind the clouds for the first time in two weeks. “Oh, that is good.”

“Yes, it is.” Steve sits down on the sofa next to Bucky, his eyes soft and shining with something powerful. “Say it again?”

“Uh....which part?” 

“The part about our names.” Steve takes Bucky’s hand and laces their fingers together. 

“Rogers-Barnes?” Bucky smiles when Steve does, and they take a solid moment to just look at each other. 

“Didn’t know you wanted my name,” Steve mutters, his ears pink. He looks like he’s fighting the urge to glance down, almost sheepish in his happiness.

“‘Course I do.” Bucky tilts his head, suddenly sheepish himself. “Unless you don’t want me to take-”

“No!” Steve shakes his head quickly, eyes wide. “No, I definitely - I do, I mean-”

“Well, that’s good,” Bucky mutters, laughing softly. Steve laughs too, and they look down at their entwined hands.

“Awwww.” Pietro coos at them from his place on the floor next to Clint.

“Are they being cute?” Clint lifts the pillow away from his face at last and squints up at Bucky and Steve. “Ugh. Knew it.” He covers his face back up and gives them a thumbs up. “You two should get married or something.”

* * *

About a week later it’s still raining, and Clint and Bucky have dragged themselves to the upstate training center for a change in scenery and to escape their increasing cabin fever.

They’re supposed to be working on Bucky’s defensive maneuvers on the (probably very likely) chance that Hydra or AIM attacks Bucky during an inopportune moment (for instance, during an AP Exam, which is _ not _an experience Bucky wants to live out again), and while they certainly did work on Bucky’s flexibility and a few moves earlier in the day, their time has devolved into watching Nat complete increasingly ludicrous tasks in the simulator.

“Do it again, but this time with more ballet!” Clint shouts into the intercom. 

Nat flicks the camera off but complies, launching herself at her digitally constructed foe with a deadly grace Bucky can’t help but admire with envy.

“Am I ever going to look that good fighting?” Bucky asks, propping his feet up on the control board as he watches Nat vault over a flaming car. 

“You mean you don’t know?” Clint whoops appreciatively before Bucky can answer, and he shouts into the mic, “That’s my wife!”

“I’m fighting you next,” Nat shouts, flipping her braid over her shoulder before kicking through the face of an approaching enemy.

“I’m counting on it!” Clint settles back in his chair with a dopey, lovestruck smile. “She’s gonna kick my ass.”

“She really is,” Bucky agrees, but he flicks Clint on the shoulder, wanting to return to their earlier point. “What did you mean by _ you don’t know _? What don’t I know?”

“Dude.” Clint smirks at him. “You’re stupidly sexy when you fight.”

“I--” Bucky splutters in disbelief. “I - I am _ not. _My hair gets in my eyes.”

“Sexy,” Clint says with a nod.

“My pants were too tight when we were in DC, I thought I was going to rip right through them when we were fighting those robots-”

“Sexy,” Clint repeats, his eyes widening with a look of _ this is obvious, dumbass. _“Tight pants are how you get your murder strut.”

“My - murder- guh - And - and I’ve never really trained in how to fight, all I do is punch things really hard until they fall over-”

“_ -very _ sexy-”

“And I guess I’m a good shot?”

“You _ guess _ you’re a good shot.” Clint snorts and rolls his eyes, grabbing his to-go cup of coffee from the console. He drains it in one gulp before pointing at Bucky with a glare. “You fuckin’ single handedly wiped all my high-scores from the Tower’s training module when you _ hadn’t held a gun in almost a decade. _ ” He shakes his head and glares, throwing his empty cup at Bucky, who catches it with the tips of his fingers. “Good shot. God. Some of us _ worked _to get our aim that good.”

“Your aim is better than mine,” Bucky insists.

“Thanks, babe, but it’s really not.” Clint sighs, and a few seconds later, Nat walks through the door into the main control room, not a drop of sweat on her lovely face.

“What are you two yapping about? You missed my grand finale.” She hops up on the console and reaches behind it, pulling out another coffee cup.

“Oh! Coffee!” Clint reaches for it with grabby hands.

“This is my secret coffee,” Nat informs him, crossing her legs and holding the cup out of reach. “It’s why I hid it from you.”

“Aw, coffee,” Clint pouts, but Nat sips her drink and ignores him.

“We were talking about how Clint thinks I’m sexy when I fight,” Bucky explains, beyond the point of worrying if the Black Widow thinks he’s weird. 

They’ve had their ups and downs in the time they’ve known each other, but they’re certainly friends now; and, friends can tell other friends when their husbands think their fighting is sexy. He’s also comfortable enough around Clint and Nat to wear a tank top that does absolutely nothing to hide the tangle of scars on his left shoulder from the car accident that took his family eleven years ago - this time last year, he probably would have reached for a sweatshirt when Nat walked in the room, but now he doesn’t even bring one with him when he knows it’ll be one of the Avengers with him.

They’re Steve’s family after all - and maybe, just maybe, they might think of Bucky as family one day, too. Wanda and Pietro already do, that was a given, but somehow Clint and Nat, and Sam, and Tony, and Pepper, and even Thor (who still giggles about how _ everyone _bought that he didn’t know it was impolite to give out Asgardian condoms as a gift) have worked their way into Bucky’s heart, into the framework of his life.

He’s stirred from his soft thoughts by Nat’s probing gaze and the tail end of her and Clint’s conversation: 

“...I don’t think he’d mind, really.”

“You don’t think who would mind what?” Bucky asks, blinking himself back to the present. 

“We were talking about how pretty your hair was.” Clint props his chin up on his hand and smiles at Bucky, who shifts uncomfortably.

It’s not that he _ minds _the attention, it’s just that … well, sometimes it’s hard to hear compliment after compliment heaped up like this, and he knows Clint is at least partly kidding, but the serene comments about how attractive he is still settle under his skin and feel warm and itchy, like things that don’t belong inside of him.

Still, Bucky offers him a tight smile. “Thanks. Grew it myself.”

“And, we were talking about how Clint used to do everyone’s hair and makeup in the circus,” Nat continues, her dainty feet swinging back and forth on the console.

“What haven’t you done?” Bucky asks Clint with a more genuine smile.

“Are you asking, or the FBI?” 

Both Nat and Bucky snort, but then Nat’s smile turns particularly sharkish. 

“So, we were wondering … if you’d let Clint cut your hair.”

Bucky looks back and forth between them. “Did you lure me out here so you could peer pressure me into a haircut? Because I _ like _my hair long.”

“Just a trim!” Nat insists, hands up.

“Yeah, I just wanna practice on someone with nice hair,” Clint says, his eyes already studying Bucky’s hairline.

Bucky’s hand goes to his hair almost defensively. “Nat has nice hair.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” Nat smiles at him prettily, and it manages to be all teeth.

“Nat does have nice hair,” Clint agrees, “And she’s also a lot more likely to stab me if it goes poorly.”

“Like I wouldn’t stab you?” Bucky asks, eyebrows raised. 

Nat and Clint stare back at him, their own eyebrows raised.

“Fine,” Bucky relents, “I probably wouldn’t stab you … unless it went _ really _poorly.”

“So is that a yes?” Clint asks, bouncing up onto his feet.

Bucky sighs, feeling highly put upon; he rubs his temples for a second before nodding. “Just a trim,” he reminds Clint, who’s already bounding off down the hallway towards the common area of the training center.

“Just a trim,” Nat echoes, hopping down from the console and patting him on the shoulder before disappearing down the hallway after Clint; she tosses a smile over her shoulder before she turns the corner.

“I already regret this decision,” Bucky says out loud to no one in particular before he picks himself up off his chair and follows Clint and Nat down to the common area.

The windows that line the hallway reveal the nasty weather outside; meterologists are baffled by the endless sideways rain, but it doesn’t seem to be causing any trouble past soil erosion and some issues with airplanes, and it’s limited to a three hundred mile radius that centers around New York City (because what shitstorm _ doesn’t _ do exactly that?). 

Bucky turns into the lounge area, and heads to where Clint is already setting up a chair that faces the windows - he’s got a full barber’s kit laid out on the counter next to him, and Bucky frowns, suddenly suspicious.

“Did you assume I’d say yes?’

“Of course not.” Natasha vaults over the back of the nearest couch, a bowl of popcorn in her hands. “We wanted to give you the dignity of your choice.”

“Ha. Ha.” Bucky collapses in the chair and scowls out the windows into the tempest outside. “Get it over with.”

“Yes sir!” Clint swings a sheet over his shoulders, and Bucky has yet another moment of outright hesitation and pre-regret.

“Just a trim,” Bucky reminds him, glancing over his shoulder at Clint, who has a very shiny, very sharp razor in his hand. He squints at it then up at Clint. “Shouldn’t you wash my hair first?”

“I guess I probably should,” Clint agrees, flipping the razor back and forth in his hand. Nat gets up from the couch and comes over to investigate, standing next to Clint and running her fingers through Bucky’s thick hair with an appreciative expression. “Do you want a shave, too?”

“I’m good shaving myself, thanks,” Buck says, snorting and turning away.

“I think if you cut about this much off,” Nat says, pulling his hair away from his face, and pointing at something unseen.

Bucky shakes his head and sighs, and Clint hums in agreement, his hand (not the razor hand, Bucky hopes), sifting through the waves.

Right around that moment, there’s an almighty crack of lightning unlike anything Bucky’s ever seen: the courtyard outside the windows illuminates in an unnatural, bright blue light that throws everything into sharp relief for almost ten seconds as the light dazzles between sky and ground - the power goes down immediately with a crackle of sound, and less than a second after the light show ends, a crash of thunder shakes everything that isn’t cemented into the ground.

There’s so much to take in, but Bucky’s enhanced senses _ do _allow him to hear the telltale slice over his shoulder, and there’s suddenly a lot more breeze on the side of his neck.

“Uh…” Clint bends down and picks something up. “I can fix this.”

“He can totally fix this,” Nat says, “But what the _ fuck _was that?”

“No idea.” Bucky raises his hand up to his neck, his eyes still fixed on the raging storm outside; the rain has only picked up in the aftermath of the lightning. His hand makes contact with bare skin, and when he drags his fingers up to his ear, he still can’t feel any hair. “And what the _ fuck _did you do to my hair?”

He swivels to see Clint standing there with about seven inches of dark, wavy hair in his hand, a look of panic wild in his eyes.

“I can fix this?” Clint says, and Bucky lets out a long, tired breath.

“Yeah.” He stands up slowly, fixing Clint with the look his students call _ Murder Eyes Barnes. _ “...I’m gonna stab you.”

“Eep!” 

Clint starts to run, and Bucky’s hot on his heels a millisecond later.

“Get back here and fix this, Barton!”

* * *

* * *

“Are you sure you do not mind standing out here in this?” Wanda wrinkles her nose and glares up at the sky, and Steve swears he can see the cogs turning in her head.

She’s been quiet - paler than usual, her eyes grave, expression drawn - since that terrifying lightning strike a half an hour before. Steve’s ears are still ringing, and his heart still pounding from the gigantic, almighty crash of thunder that had followed it.

“Yeah.” Steve hunches over further, his rain slicker pulled up over his head to block out some of the rain. “Thor swears he won’t let the lightning hit us.”

“Do you think he actually controls that?” Wanda shoots him an amused look, and Steve feels that old bubble of fondness in his chest. “This is...unlikely. I think Thor is playing a bad prank, and we are left to be wet in the rain - and get hit by lightning.”

Again, her eyes drift to the sky, as though waiting for another horrific, drawn-out flash.

“That might be true,” Steve agrees, tugging the front of his slicker more closed. “But I’d like to think it isn’t.”

“Oh, Steven,” Wanda sighs dramatically. She pats his arm with a sympathetic smile. “You are too trusting, I think.”

She’s basically his kid sister, but he swears sometimes she sounds older than he feels.

“Where’s your brother anyway?” 

Steve shields his eyes with his hand and squints into the darkness between the trees - Pietro had zipped off in one direction five minutes ago, and Steve’s legitimately concerned he might be in Jersey (or Canada, like that one time they sort of knocked over fifteen Mounties and a moose during one of Pietro’s ‘warm-ups’) by now. 

“He’s coming, he’s coming.” Wanda lifts one shoulder and drops it, a small, teasing smile on her face. “You’re such a worrywart.”

The mannerism is so _ Bucky _that Steve’s breath catches in his throat; as close as he is with the twins, it’s nothing compared to what’s grown between the twins and his fiance. Wanda and Pietro had so little good in their lives for so long, and Steve thanks God and anybody listening every day that Bucky and the Maximoffs found each other, that they’ve been able to build up a family in the face of everything the universe has thrown at them, despite all of the family the universe had insisted on taking away from them.

“Worrywart, huh?” Steve bumps Wanda with his shoulder. “I’ve never been accused of that before.”

“To your face,” Wanda mutters, and Steve’s mid-snort when the branches in the clearing bend back in a rush of wind. Wanda rises from her seat and gestures at her brother, who isn’t even out of breath. “See? I told you he’d be back.”

“Steve!” Pietro bounces up and down on his heels. “Guess where I went!”

“You went to-” Wanda begins, but Pietro cuts her off with a roll of his eyes.

“Of course _ you _know where I went.” (It’s another point in Tony’s ‘pretty sure your little ducklings are telepathically linked, Cap’ category). “I asked Steve!”

“Philadelphia?” Steve guesses half-heartedly, the rain smacking him in the face every three seconds and making it hard to muster more enthusiasm.

“Nope!” Pietro’s still bouncing, and his hair is still oddly dry despite the weather. “Further - try again?”

“Cincinnati?”

“Why would I go to Cin-cin-at-i?” Pietro sounds out the city name with caution and disdain in equal measure.

“Not sure,” Steve wipes some water out of his eyes and shrugs. “Gonna tell me where you went, pal?”

“Atlanta!” Pietro digs around in his pocket and comes back with a little Falcons keychain. “I got this for Sam!”

“I’m sure he’ll love it,” Steve says, not wanting to include the fact that as someone who was born outside of Georgia, Sam Wilson probably was _ not _a Falcons fan, despite his codename.

“Did you get me anything?” Wanda asks, and Pietro shifts his feet guiltily.

“Well. Not exactly.”

“You never get me anything.” She bops her brother on the arm with a flat hand. “The disrespect!”

“Hey, guys,” Steve says, laughing, standing up from the bench to try and separate the two. “No fighting on my watch.”

“Yeah, guys,” a new voice says, and all three of them startle - Wanda’s hands immediately flare with the telltale red light, and Pietro’s between his sister and the newcomer in less than a blink of an eye. “You should really listen to your elders.”

“Fury.” Steve turns and greets his former director with a tense nod. “Funny seeing you here in the middle of a goddamn thunderstorm.”

“That’s the thing, Captain Rogers.” Fury’s eye doesn’t blink at all as he regards Steve with a scrutiny that makes his toes curl in his sodden boots. “It’s always thunderstorming these days; wouldn’t you agree?”

“Do you need us for a mission?” Pietro asks warily, and Steve tenses further.

The twins hadn’t been on active duty the last time he checked - they were on the third roster for the Avengers, only called in for behind the scenes work. But, then again, he hasn’t been Captain America for over half a year, and things were bound to change (even if it meant putting minors in danger, apparently).

“No, Mr. Maximoff, I do not. You and your sister can relax.” Fury barely acknowledges Pietro before returning his intense gaze to Steve; neither Pietro nor Wanda take Fury’s suggestion to heart, judging by the way the wisps of red intensify around Wanda’s small fists. “You look well, Captain.”

“Retirement agrees with me,” Steve says shortly, his patience already gone. This had been a major reason it was so easy to hand the shield to Sam; the inability of Fury and anyone from SHIELD to give him a straight answer or to be up front. “What is it you want, then, if you aren’t carting kids off to fight your war?”

“Easy now, Captain.” Fury should look mildly ridiculous in his rain poncho, but he manages to pull off his usual aura of being vaguely threatening pretty well. “As I recall, you were once a _ kid _eager to go to war.”

“What is it you want?” Steve repeats stubbornly. “Because if you don’t have anything to say, I don’t see why you should be here.”

“Two super-powered, volatile teenagers hanging out with a civilian?” Fury lifts his one eyebrow impressively, and Steve grits his teeth. “I’d say I might need to be here for some oversight. From an outsider’s perspective, I’m sure you can see what I mean.”

“He needs you,” Wanda breaks in suddenly, tilting her head and frowning at Fury, her eyes slightly distant. With the shimmering crimson light flickering around her hands and eyes, it’s an eerie effect. “He doesn’t want to say it. He needs your help.”

“That might be true.” Fury levels Wanda with a gaze that’s far too assessing. “I do need your help.”

“I’m not Captain America anymore,” Steve says firmly. Part of him still twinges to say it, but the life he’s built with Bucky is too happy to be endangered by whatever the hell it is Fury wants him to take part in.

Short of a Doomsday situation, Steve isn’t ever getting back in that uniform; the world’s topsy-turvy now, institutions he’d once been proud to defend, corrupted beyond recognition, his government determined to undermine everything his generation had fought for. No, he’s fine letting go of the shield because as far as he’s concerned, he’s a man who fights for people, not for a country that’s forgotten what it is. He doesn’t need a shield to fight for the defenseless, and he certainly doesn’t need SHIELD itself. He won’t be a puppet anymore.

So, he holds his head high and stares Nicholas J. Fury down. 

“Unless the world is ending, you don’t need me.” 

He swears Wanda shoots him a small, proud smile. 

“It’s not precisely a ‘world is ending’ situation, Captain.” Fury doesn’t seem at all perturbed by his declaration. “....Not _ exactly _. But it is something that you are uniquely equipped to handle, even without...your powers.”

Steve does _ not _like the way Fury pauses around the mention of his ‘lost’ powers, and he has zero doubts in that moment that Fury understands a lot more about his status as enhanced than Steve wants.

“He doesn’t have to do your thing,” Pietro insists, still vibrating with anxiety as he scowls at Fury - Steve’s heart twinges at the sight of the reedy teenager standing between them. 

The Maximoffs had come to the United States under the shakiest of legal circumstances after the Avengers had found them in that Hydra facility - the last thing Steve wants is for Pietro or Wanda to get in trouble because of him.

“It’s not a _ Captain America _thing.” Fury’s gaze is far too intense as he looks at Steve again. “It’s a Steve Rogers thing.”

Steve lets out a breath, preparing to tell Fury where to stick it, when Fury says the words that could get his attention anywhere, anytime.

“...A Steve Rogers _ and James Barnes _thing.”

He feels as though the air has left his body, and the world tilts slightly; the rain comes down harder than ever, and he feels every single drop as it digs into his skin, driven by the wind to be particularly brutal.

Steve stares at Fury, unsure of what he means, unsure that he wants to know.

“What about James?” Wanda asks, breaking the silence for them.

“Let’s go to Stark Tower so I can explain it more there,” Fury suggests, gesturing over his shoulder. 

A black SUV pulls up on the path behind him.

“Is he safe?” Steve demands, something in him snapping at Fury’s reluctance to explain here and now. “I’m not fucking going anywhere until you tell me he’s okay and what the fuck it is you want from us.”

“I need your help on a cosmic issue that you’re somehow at the center of,” Fury says, hands raised as though in surrender. “I can assure you, Mr. Barnes is only involved because of the nature of _ your _involvement. As far as I know, Mr. Barnes is safe at the Avengers headquarters as we speak, but he will be invited to join us at the Tower. It will be perfectly voluntary, of course,” he adds when Steve’s scowl doesn’t relent.

“If you’re lying,” Steve begins, hands tightening into fists before he remembers he’s not exactly supposed to be in the sort of shape that would let him punch his way out of this. “... I don’t trust you, Fury,” he says instead, throat tight with anxiety.

“Good.” Fury turns and walks towards the SUV, his voice almost lost in the tumult of the rainfall. “I was beginning to think you’d never learn.”

Wanda and Steve exchange a long look before walking towards the waiting car; Pietro nudges past them with a muttered _ I’ll check it out, boss, _before he disappears from view, ostensibly to get to the Tower before them.

As he climbs into the warm, dry interior of the unmarked SUV, Steve can’t shake the feeling that he should have encouraged Bucky to stay in bed this morning; they could still be there, wrapped around each other, far away from the rain and Fury’s drama, far away from anything that could threaten each and every one of their mornings in the future.

When they climb on the elevator in the lobby of Stark Tower, after the most tense car ride in the history of automotives, Steve’s left with a single, burning question that he can’t quell even as they rise up silently to the common area floor of the tower.

“Fury?” He addresses the control panel of the elevator (and God, it’s been three years and he still _ fucking hates _elevators), his shoulders tight and spine rigid. 

“Captain?” Fury answers.

Wanda’s leaning against the wall nearest to Steve, her eyes locked on the director; Pietro hadn’t greeted them in the lobby when they arrived, and something feels off about how wary Wanda looks, as though she’s picking something up strange from her twin but isn’t sure what it is. 

“How am I at the center of a cosmic issue?” Steve shakes his head, jaw clenched. “It’s not like I’m Thor; I’m just a guy.”

“Just a guy who sells art on Etsy,” Fury agrees, his head tilting to the side. Steve stares at him, the blood drained from his face in surprise, and he swears he sees Fury crack a smile. “Goose6096.”

“You -- you bought that cat portrait?” Steve asks, his mind whirring in confusion. “That was _ you _?” 

“What can I say?” Fury shrugs and his smile, if anything, grows. “You really captured that rascal’s personality.”

Wanda’s staring at him in shock too, now, and Steve could almost laugh if he weren’t so anxious.

“Still though,” Steve continues, still feeling poleaxed but determined to get answers before the doors slide open on the common area, “How could this have anything to do with me?”

“See for yourself,” Fury says, frustratingly enigmatic as ever. The elevator stops, and Steve swallows hard before the doors slide open.

When neither he nor Wanda make any effort to move, Fury sighs and walks out in front of them, leaving his back exposed. It’s the first time Steve can really recall seeing Fury’s back, and it surprises him enough to start walking too, Wanda a step behind him.

He doesn’t know what he expects - the Red Skull, George Tarleton, the Hulk mid-crisis, Thor’s greasy-haired, slightly diabolical brother - but nothing he could come up with prepares him for what’s waiting in the middle of the common area - or should he say _ who. _

There are four people waiting for them, grouped around the couches in various stages of forced calm. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bruce says weakly, sitting on a couch, rubbing his temples and staring at the ground. “We - uh - we gotta talk about something.”

Even Thor is subdued as he offers a tight smile to Steve from his perch on a reinforced counter, Mjolnir balanced on his knee. Maria Hill doesn’t look any happier, but Steve can barely manage a glance in anyone’s direction, not when his attention is squarely focused on the massive, mildly terrifying elephant in the room.

“Hello.” The fourth person stands from his seat and folds his hands behind his back, standing at attention, sharp blue eyes fixed on Steve with unnerving focus. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

Steve Rogers stares at an exhausted, older version of himself, a Steve Rogers who carries his grief around his eyes, plain as day, whose shoulders are still rugged and broad, but clearly weighed down by something big and terrible, which instinctively scares Steve_ . _

Steve Rogers stares at himself and then nods slowly, lips pursed as he considers the situation; he eventually comes to a conclusion, one that he can’t help but share with the group.

“Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [**spoilers**]:
> 
> From part one of the series:
> 
> *In this universe, Bucky (born in 1990) met Steve (born in 1918, Captain America) at a museum at the end of 2015 while taking his class on a field trip  
*In this universe, Bucky is Romanian and Jewish (he speaks Romanian, Hebrew, and Yiddish), and the Maximoff twins are alive and well and Jewish (and they love Bucky as an older brother, and the love is very much returned).  
*Bucky lost his biological family in a car accident that scarred the left side of his body; he was part of a clinical trial that turned out to be an extension of the serum program that gave Steve his powers decades prior.  
*Hydra was obsessed with Bucky and kidnapped him, experimenting on him/torturing him until he developed the powers and status more recognizable as what we know to be the Winter Soldier (Bucky was also in an abusive relationship with Brock Rumlow, not knowing he was part of Hydra, prior to the events of Project Insight, which still took place minus the Winter Solider/Cap fight)
> 
> From Part two of the series:  
*Steve and Bucky briefly broke up, after Steve miscalculated a decision that left Bucky betrayed and hurt (basically, Cap sided with SHIELD on monitoring/keeping Bucky contained after his powers were rapidly revealed)  
*Cap went to a lot of therapy for body dysmorphia and self loathing and depression/anxiety and worked very hard on himself before re-entering his relationship with Bucky  
*Bucky is still a teacher, SHIELD wanted him to be a soldier (cough cough weapon), and Steve/Bucky fought that very hard  
*Steve was briefly imprisoned by AIM, who'd embedded themselves on an oversight committee for the Avengers - their leader de-serumed Steve, and he was returned to his health (but not his size) from before the serum  
*End of the fic had Steve and Bucky getting engaged (yay!) and also, implied Steve regaining his powers (also yay!)


	2. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Other-Steve have a lot to figure out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warnings_  
*convoluted storylines and timelines  
*referenced angst/torture/death  
*potential for reading something as mild internalized homophobia (Other-Steve refers to being 'angry' that he was in love with his best friend, but my intention was that it's more of 'anger that it was hopeless/unrequited' and not 'anger that it was a man') and also Other-Steve refers to himself as 'queer' which probably isnt a reclaimed word for him given his background in the MCU  
*outright refusal to accept endgame
> 
> **notes**  
*Steve refers to the alternate universe version of himself as Other-Steve, and it probably will get confusing, but I tried my best

“Captain America, meet … Steve Rogers.” Fury glances between them and then raises his eyebrows at Steve. “Aren’t you going to shake his hand,  _ Mr _ . Rogers?”

The emphasis on Steve’s name startles him slightly into action, and he moves automatically, hand extended. The other him mirrors the movement and walks forward as well, his own hand reaching out.

“Wait!” Wanda rushes forward, a flare of red building between her hands. “Do not touch-”

“What would happen?” Steve asks, jerking his hand back.

“I’m not sure,” Wanda whispers, eyes wide and fearful as she stares at the space between the Steves. “I - I do not think we should find out.” 

“It’s okay,” the other Steve says, eyes soft when he looks at Wanda. “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay-”

“Stop!” Wanda’s hands fly to her ears, and she shakes her head. “I don’t - I’m not supposed to see that-”

“See what?” Steve asks, baffled, but Wanda’s trembling. 

“I died,” she sobs, eyes squeezing shut. Steve’s stomach plummets. “But I’m not supposed to see, she isn’t - that isn’t me, please, this hurts-”

“It’s too much for her,” Bruce says, lurching forward with an anxious expression. “She needs to get out of here - Wanda’s tuned into different frequencies, remember? This must be wreaking havoc on her mind.”

The metal fixtures around the room start to groan and flicker with an eerie red light, and Wanda doesn’t open her eyes, only shakes her head and covers her ears. 

“I got you,” Pietro says, zipping out of from wherever he was hiding. He wraps a supporting arm around her.

The other Steve stares at Pietro like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Stop!” Wanda screams, eyes flying open at last to stare at the older Steve. “I do not want to see that, please, it wasn’t him-”

“I’m sorry,” Other-Steve whispers, looking like he means it. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“But you are.” Pietro scoops his sister up in his lanky arms and frowns at both Steves. “Figure this shit out and text us when you do.”

The Maximoffs are gone less than a second later, the emergency exit clicking shut behind Pietro as he takes the stairs at a speed that can’t be traced by any of them.

The older, tired Steve stares after her, wistful and pained. “She never lost him, did she?”

“What do you mean, traveler?” Thor asks, Mjolnir still at his feet, but something grave building in his eyes. 

“Pietro Maximoff didn’t die in Sokovia in 2015.” The statement settles around the room with varying degrees of horror.

“Fuck.” Steve shakes his head. “You didn’t pull him out of the facility in time?” Both the twins had been emaciated when they liberated them, and scared out of their wits; Steve shudders, thinking about what Wanda went through if she watched her brother die next to her in captivity.

“What?” The Other-Steve frowns, hands on his hips, his uniform annoying clean and bright in the subdued room. “No, he was shot to death when we tried to stop Ultron.”

“Ultron?” Maria asks. “What the fuck is an Ultron?”

“How could Pietro be shot to death?” Bruce asks, brow furrowing. “He - he’s faster than bullets. We’ve tested it.”

“He tried to save Clint, and-” the Other-Steve coughs and turns to Maria. “Ma’am, what year is it?”

“It’s 2017, and if you call me ma’am again, I will kick you back to whatever universe you came from,” Maria answers.

The Other-Steve nods at that, a twitch of his lips suggesting he found her response amusing and not terrifyingly genuine. “If it’s 2017, how can you not know about Ultron?”

“We aren’t sure what an Ultron is,” Bruce says slowly.

“I think I’ll let you talk this out,” Fury says, shaking his head. “Captain Rogers has already debriefed me on the situation back in his universe, but I think you’ll all be able to clear the air better in my absence. Agent Hill?”

“Sir.” Maria stands with a nod, and Helen stands with her.

“If you’re feeling at all poorly, Captain, let me know.” Helen smiles at him tightly and walks with Maria to the elevators. Fury follows them a second later, and then only Thor, Bruce, Steve, and Other-Steve are left.

“So, why are you here?” Steve asks, crossing his arms and staring at Other-Steve from across the common area floor.

“To warn you,” Other-Steve says quickly. “If it’s 2017, you only have a year to prepare. Thanos is coming for the Stones, and he will kill half of the universe when he gets them.”

“Does that make a whole lot of sense to either of you two?” Bruce asks Thor and Steve.

If Bruce Banner, proud owner of multiple Ph.D’s doesn’t know what the fuck Other-Steve is talking about, that can’t be good.

“The Tesseract,” Other-Steve says, looking at Steve imploringly. “You’ve seen it.”

“I have. It nearly destroyed the world twice.”

“Yes, well.” Other-Steve walks to the table and clicks open a silver container; it hisses open ominously, and he picks up a glowing, blue stone from inside of it. “This is what it was hiding: the Space Stone.”

“You have the Infinity Stones?” Thor stands up, shock on his face. “All of them? And you brought them here?” He scowls down at Other-Steve, righteous fury resonating out from him. “You became unwise in the other universe, friend-Steve.”

“I had to risk it,” Other-Steve replies steadily. “If it meant saving the universe in the other timelines, then I had to try. I used the Space and Time Stones to visit other worlds, to warn them of Thanos - I know it’s fraying, and I need to stop soon, I can feel it-”

“You are a mortal man, Steven Rogers.” Thor sighs mightily. “This endeavor should have killed you. You never should have tried to yield the Stones in this way.”

“Hang on, what Stones?” Bruce interrupts, his voice growing rough in his anxiety. They all stop to stare at him, and he takes several deep breaths. “Thor and - and Cap-Two, you need to stop and seriously explain what’s going on because you’re a thousand steps ahead of me and Cap-One.”

“Yeah.” Steve nods and walks over to stare at the silver container the other version of himself had opened. He can’t see the rest of the compartments inside, but the blue stone casts a light that threatens to throw him back to 1943 and the dead men in its path and the ice that tried to bury him. “Slow down and start from the beginning.”

Other-Steve and Thor take turns, Thor explaining the lore of the Stones and some of the physics behind them, and Other-Steve explaining what had happened in his world as a result of the Stones, the sacrifices they had made.

When they both reach a stop, Steve lets out a tense breath; his head pounds from the extra five tons of shit they have just dumped on him, and not for the first time, he wishes he could have a drink and make it stick.

“Shit.” He wipes a hand over his face, and Bruce echoes the sentiment. “So, you think this Thanos is coming here?”

“He might already be on his way.” Other-Steve is frowning though as he says it, some thought whirring behind his eyes. “Although…”

“Although what?”

“If you avoided Ultron, you didn’t draw too much attention to Earth. The Chitauri still happened, and Loki still brought Thanos’s attention somewhat here-”

“-He’s been going to therapy,” Thor offers, “It’s working very well. He sent our father a card last year and didn’t even try to poison the paper!”

“Right.” Other-Steve nods thoughtfully as though Thor’s comment actually involved itself in his thought process. “That’s … that’s good to hear. But still, you need to prepare, and more than ever, the team needs to stick together. You can’t drop the shield,” he turns to Steve when he says this, and his stomach curdles in fear. “You can’t. You and Tony have to work together, or-”

“I already dropped it,” Steve admits, his ears burning. “I’m not - I’m not Captain America anymore.”

“But you’re here in the Tower, and the Accords didn’t happen,” Other-Steve protests. “Clearly you can work out whatever issue-”

“Steve was de-serumed last year,” Bruce says bluntly, and Other-Steve reels back as though he’s been struck. “He retired from the position shortly after it happened. Sam Wilson is Captain America now.”

“That-” Other-Steve rubs his temples, eyes wide in shock. “The Sam part - that - that makes sense - but you’re - you lost-”

“Not really.” Steve shakes his head with a groan. Thor and Brue both know that he’s back to full strength, but he’s sure Fury is listening in on this conversation somehow. “But the public thinks that I’m weak again; it’s not exactly great PR if I pick the shield up again. A lot of questions will be asked.”

“There won’t be time for questions if Thanos gets here,” Other-Steve snaps, his cheeks flaming red. Steve feels himself responding to his own anger, and it’s like it amplifies between them; within seconds, they’re almost snarling in each other’s faces, having crossed the common area to try to tower over the other. “You have to get over whatever pot dream you had, letting go of the shield, and you need to patch things up with Stark  _ now. _ ”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Steve shouts back. “Stark and I aren’t fighting, I don’t know what the fuck you did to your Tony, but he and I are fine!”

“He knows about Bucky,” Other-Steve says, his anger twisting into something like a sob halfway through. “He knows!”

“What about Bucky?” Steve staggers back, cold terror flushing through his system. Other-Steve blinks and takes a few steps back as well. “Bucky … Bucky Barnes?” 

“You don’t know?” Other-Steve has a thousand-yard stare now. “Fuck. Bucky’s alive. He’s probably alive right now, and you have to find him.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“It’s 2017, so Bucky should be alive, and he - he’s in danger.”

[Gentleman, if I may,] JARVIS says before he’s cut off.

“What?” Steve’s spine stiffens. “Bucky’s in danger? Is it Hydra again?”

[Gentlemen-] JARVIS tries to break in politely again, to no avail.

“No.” Other-Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, his shoulders tight, face pained. “No, it’s Thanos - I keep trying to tell you. Thanos is a threat, and he’s coming, and when he does, Bucky will die. You will watch him die  _ again. _ ”

The room’s spinning and Steve’s going to be sick.

“Wait a second. How can I die  _ again _ ?” 

Both Steves, Bruce, and Thor turn to stare at the newcomer - Other-Steve’s face noticeably drains of color.

“Buck,” Fake-Steve breathes, eyes wide and hopeful in a way that makes Steve’s stomach clench in what feels hatefully like jealousy.

[As I was trying to say, Mr. Barnes is here now.]

“Uh.” Bucky blinks slowly as he walks off the elevator, head swiveling between the two Steves, almost adorably confused, his blue eyes blown wide. 

Steve blinks twice himself; Bucky’s hair is short, shorter than he’s ever seen it. It’s styled in the front, the short waves held up and away from his face into a decent replica of a 40’s male pompadour. It’s a  _ damn  _ good look for him, as much as Steve loves his long hair, but he also knows now is not the time to drag Bucky away from everyone so he can show him how much he likes his new haircut (although … with the clusterfuck this is becoming, grabbing Bucky and running doesn’t sound like a  _ bad  _ idea).

“What the fuck?” Clint is less adorable in his confusion, his hand ripping through his hair while he follows Bucky out into the common area. “What the actual fuck.”

“Couldn’t agree more, babe.” Nat looks like she’s putting off a headache. Steve knows the feeling.

“You’re okay,” Other-Steve croaks, taking a few steps towards Bucky; Steve tightens his fist to stop himself from gripping himself from this other universe by the harness and hauling him back, maybe through a glass window (It would be satisfying, he’s sure, but Wanda seemed to think it might rip a hole through reality, and he doesn’t want to disappoint Wanda). “Oh my God, Bucky - your arm!”

“What about it?” Bucky frowns, taking this oddity in stride for the moment. He glances down at his bandaged left arm. “Oh shit. Yeah, Clint shot me.”

“He  _ what _ ?” Both Steves ask in unison.

“Okay, this is weird, right?” Bucky nudges Clint, who nods and wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulder.

“Super fucking weird.”

“Why did Clint shoot you?” Other-Steve growls, eyeing the way the men are standing suspiciously. Clint sidles away from Bucky, hands raised in surrender, and he crosses over towards Bruce, Nat close behind him.

“I didn’t move out of the way in time,” Bucky says, shrugging. “And I was sort of trying to stab him for cutting my hair.”

“Jesus.” Steve exhales noisily at the same time Other-Steve does. 

“But you still have your arm.” Other-Steve returns to his point quickly, as though very quickly accepting of the fact that Bucky might try to stab someone for cutting his hair; his attention zeroes in on Bucky’s scarred shoulder. “They didn’t take it.”

“Uh.” Bucky takes a probably subconscious step back from the version of Steve in front of him. “This is the original Barnes arm.” He waves it demonstrably and then holds it out to Other-Steve. “Pleased to meet you, I guess? Did … did Tony’s cloning machine work?”

“Tony’s what now?” Nat asks, her smile as sharp as her throwing knives.

“Tony’s  _ secret  _ cloning machine.” Bruce grimaces at Bucky. “Which is  _ secret.  _ But no, Bucky, this  _ is  _ Cap, at least, Cap from an alternate universe.”

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky leans heavily against the counter behind him. “The multiverse theory is right?”

“Trust me, I already have a headache,” Bruce mumbles, rubbing at his temple with a wince. 

“Fuck.” Bucky shakes his head and smiles at Other-Steve, a smirk that Steve thought was reserved only for  _ him,  _ but he guesses it still technically is. “What year is it where you are?”

“2023.” Other-Steve hasn’t blinked, and Steve thinks he might not be breathing either. “It’s 2023 in my universe.”

“So that makes you, what, 38?”

“Just about.” Other-Steve smiles back at Bucky, but it looks exhausted, and not for the first time, Steve notes the grey at his temples. He doesn’t see how he’ll age  _ this  _ badly in six years. He didn’t even think he could age - something has  _ happened  _ to this man, and Steve guesses somewhere along the losing half the population, and losing his best friends, and losing over and over again, he would probably age somewhat faster than expected. 

Grief’s funny like that, he’s learned; it turns you inside out and scars you deep where no one can heal it but yourself. And he has a feeling this Other-Steve didn’t have a lot of time for self-reflection in the past few years.

The doors chime open as Other-Steve crosses the floor, like a moon pulled into Bucky’s orbit (another feeling Steve knows too well), and Steve has barely any time to react to what happens next.

Tony walks out of the elevator, holding his tiny daughter in his arms, a wary look in his eyes; and Other-Steve moves so fast, Steve has trouble following the movement.

“JARVIS said something bonkers was happening, but I didn’t expect -” Tony pauses, holds Morgan closer to his chest, and blinks. “Uh. Hey there, Cap. Something the matter?”

Other-Steve is standing between Bucky and Tony with a look of abject horror on his face; his shield is up in a defensive position, and one gloved hand reaches back towards Bucky, gripping his arm and tugging him in tight to his back. 

“We’ll leave,” Other-Steve says wildly, “I didn’t mean to bring him here - I - I’m sorry, we’ll leave now, we’ll get out - please don’t hurt him-”

“Ooo-kay,” Tony exhales slowly and adjusts Morgan in his eyes, and she shifts and starts to whimper. “JARVIS, give me another rundown of the situation, please? I might have missed something.”

[Very good, sir. It appears that one of the Steve Rogers before you is from a separate dimension, and he has come to warn us of an impending apocalypse. He is the one currently standing in front of you, judging by his radiation signature, and his vitals indicate high levels of distress which spiked when you entered the room.]

“Thanks, JARVIS. Way to make a guy feel welcome in his own home.” Tony looks over Other-Steve’s shoulder, and Steve takes a chance and inches towards them, wanting to get Bucky away from this version of himself if he’s going to act like this. “Uh, Buckaroo, you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tony.” Bucky smiles tiredly, and then over at Steve. He puts a hand between Other-Steve’s shoulder blades, and Other-Steve tenses before relaxing drastically. “I’m - I’m okay, Tony really isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” That Steve whispers hoarsely. His attention stays on Tony, but his eyes do flicker down to Morgan, something at war in his face.

“She’s getting a little fussy.” Tony holds the baby out slowly, walking around Other-Steve until he can see Bucky. “Do you mind, Baby Whisperer?”

“Yeah, I got her.” 

Bucky steps out from behind the alternate version of Steve and collects Morgan from Tony, cradling her to his chest and pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Any fussing that might have started up when Tony walked out into the standoff slows down and disappears, and Steve smiles at Bucky.

Bucky looks back up at him and smiles at him over Morgan’s head, swaying back and forth slowly. 

“You forgave him?” Other-Steve looks like he might keel over; actual tears are in his eyes as he watches Bucky hold Tony’s daughter. “Here, you - you really -”

“Forgave him for what?” Tony takes Morgan back from Bucky, her little face relaxed in sleep. “For my daughter liking him better than me? Hell, everyone likes Barnesie better than me, even my wife does.” 

His voice is instinctively lowered with Morgan asleep in his arms, and he smiles as he says it, although something is tight in his expression; it’s his thinking face, and Steve wonders what he’s trying to put together.

“Speaking of my wife, someone better let her know this is happening - and maybe take Morgana back downstairs while they’re at it-”

“I volunteer!” Thor bounces up from the sofa, looking relieved for the chance to get out of this. “I will take the lady Morgan to her waiting mother.”

“Thanks, Greased Lightning.” Tony hands Morgan off to Thor, who coos down at the little girl happily. “Pepp’s in her office.”

“Yes, I shall take the princess down there safely,” Thor says serenely, walking to the elevator. They all watch him leave, except Steve, who’s staring at Other-Steve, whose eyes are still on Bucky.

“Don’t take her to Asgard this time,” Tony calls out at the last second before the doors shut on Thor. “Pepper really didn’t appreciate that she missed naptime-”

“The Bifrost is good for children!” Thor calls back. “It’s why I’m so strong!”

“No Asgard!” Tony repeats before it’s too late, and Thor’s out of scolding range. “I need to sit down.” He gestures between the Steves and Bucky while walking to the fridge at the back of the common area. “Want a ginger ale, Steve? Alterna-Steve?”

“No, thank you,” they say at the same time, and Tony cringes. 

“Big yikes.” He grabs a root beer from the fridge and cracks it open. “The kids still saying that, Barnes?”

“I don’t think the kids have stopped, Tony, but you’ll be the first to know when they do,” Bucky says with a snort.

“Kids?” Other-Steve looks over at Bucky in confusion. “Wanda and Pietro?”

“Well, them too,” Bucky smiles at Other-Steve softly, and Steve tries not to give in to the weird feeling in his stomach. “But he means my students.”

“Students?” Other-Steve echoes, eyes wide.

“I’m a history teacher,” Bucky tells him with no shortage of pride, and Steve’s chest swells with fondness. “At a high school in Brooklyn.”

“No shit?” Other-Steve’s smiling now, and it looks like it’s an expression he isn’t used to; his eyes are still red, though. “That’s - that’s fucking incredible, Buck. You loved school, you were always so upset that we couldn’t get the cash together for you to go to college-”

“Wait, what?” Bucky’s face twists in confusion. “I - in your universe - I - I knew you when I was younger?”

“You don’t remember.” Other-Steve shakes his head, woe in his eyes. “Shuri said you could lose your memories, and it might be the cost to save you-”

_ What?  _

Tony and Steve exchange a look, and Bruce lets out another noisy breath; Nat’s expression is still inscrutable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says kindly, reaching out to clasp Other-Steve’s arm; even though the rain is still lashing at the windows outside, it’s like they’re the eye of the storm right now. “I’m so sorry, Steve, but I don’t-”

Steve’s thoughts takes a distinctly sour turn when Other-Steve cups Bucky’s jaw in his hand, a hand that is noticeably trembling from across the room. The gesture is more tender than outright romantic, but when Steve and Tony exchange another look, Steve realizes that Tony has put something together a lot quicker than he is.

_ What about the sight of Bucky Barnes could make Steve Rogers look so broken?  _

“You look so healthy,” the alternate version of himself whispers hoarsely, eyes devouring Bucky’s face, and Steve feels like a voyeur on his own love, an uncomfortable prickle down his spine. “So - you look so young, Buck.”

“Uh, I should hope so.” Bucky makes a face. “I’m only 27.”

“You’re twenty-seven?” Other-Steve repeats in disbelief. He looks over his shoulder at Steve for confirmation. “Are you - are you sure? Was it the cyro? They didn’t take him out of cyro as often?”

“The what now?” Bucky taps Other-Steve on the shoulder in consternation until he turns back around to fix him. “I was born in 1990, jackass. I’m pretty sure I’m 27, but thanks for the vote of confidence in my knowledge of my own fuckin’ life and basic arithmetic.”

“That’s definitely true,” Tony chimes in. “We can show you the records - they aren’t doctored, he graduated from high school in 2007, became a teacher in 2013.”

“You were born -” Other-Steve’s mouth is open in a way that would be humorous if everyone in the room didn’t have a huge headache from thinking about this. “March 10, though?”

“Y-yeah.” Bucky draws the word out, frowning now. “Is there somethin’ I should know?”

“In my universe you were born in 1917, a year before I was,” Other-Steve murmurs, stroking an errant curl off of Bucky’s forehead. Steve hates how he feels like an intruder on this moment, but also, if Other-Steve doesn’t take his hands off of Bucky in about five seconds he’s going to punch himself in the face, holes in the fabric of reality be damned. 

_ Ugh _ . 

_ What a fucking mess.  _

“You died when you were twenty-seven,” Other-Steve whispers, eyes distant like a soldier on the battlefield, and Steve and Bucky tense at the same time. When Steve glances over, Tony doesn’t look surprised; his arms are crossed, and he’s staring across the room, clearly lost in thought. “I lost you - in ‘44, you fell off a train, and … and you died, I - I thought you died, Buck, and then I died, but we both ended up in the future, and - and they’d hurt you so badly, Hydra t-took you and they broke you, and I just barely got you back and you  _ died again _ \--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, doesn’t this feel a lot like spoilers to anyone else?” Tony interrupts, and they all turn to look at him. 

Steve feels guilty; it’s Tony’s Tower, after all, and the three of them (well, Other-Steve mostly) are acting like they still had an audience in Tony, Clint, Nat, and Bruce. 

“I think I’m going to .. take off.” Bruce stands up from the couch, looking exhausted. “My brain won’t shut off, and, you know, that doesn’t always go so well from a,” he circles his head with a finger and a whistle, “Big Guy perspective.”

“We’ll go with you,” Nat says quickly, standing to follow him. When Clint doesn’t move, she pushes his shoulder. “Now.”

“Aw, I wanted to watch this,” Clint protests, but he stands up next to Nat anyway. “What if they start having sex?”

Other-Steve makes a choking noise, bright red and mortified, and Steve snorts, a small flare of vindictive pleasure rising in his chest.

“Okay, you’re done.” Nat grips Clint by the upper arm and steers him towards the elevators. Bruce is already there, shoulders slumped, head resting against the metal panel. 

“But-” Clint stares over his shoulder wistfully at the drama unfolding behind him.

“We can have sex if you leave right now.”

“Okay!” Clint bounces onto the elevator, giving Steve, Other-Steve, and Bucky a big thumbs up. “Good luck! If you go at it, film it!”

“We will not,” Steve answers shortly, and Bucky hides a giggle behind his hand.

At the sound of Bucky’s laugh, Other-Steve’s eyes snap to him, that tender, heartbroken expression back. 

“You’re really okay,” he breathes. “You’re really here, and you’re okay.”

“Let’s give these two some room, Cap.” Tony gestures for Steve to come join him across the room. 

After Bucky nods encouragingly at him, Steve grits his teeth and complies. He and Tony sit in silence - Tony tries to make conversation for a few awkward minutes until giving up - while Steve watches Other-Steve and Bucky settle on the couch and start talking in hushed voices.

They look like lovers from the outside, Other-Steve’s eyes shining as he gazes at Bucky, Bucky laughing and nodding here and there, shy but not standoffish to Other-Steve’s attention.

It’s hard to be jealous of himself, but he finds that he very much is - but the fondness for how kind Bucky is being wins out, and the affection he feels accelerates infinitely when Other-Steve catches Bucky’s wrist and points at his engagement ring, the question evident from across the floor.

Steve doesn’t think he imagines how forced his own smile is when he asks the obvious question.

Bucky laughs though, and looks up at Steve, their eyes meeting across the room; with a shy duck of his head, he nods towards Steve, and Other-Steve stares at him, then back at Bucky, then back to Steve, half a dozen times.

It would be comical except for the way the color drains from Other-Steve’s face, and Tony curses under his breath.

“You don’t think Cap the Second is a homophobic asshole, do you?”

“If he is, I’ll punch his goddamn teeth out,” Steve growls, standing up.

But Other-Steve and Bucky are talking again, Other-Steve growing more animated, something pleading in his expression and body language as he leans into Bucky; at one point he closes his eyes and sags slightly, and Bucky presses his forehead into Other-Steve’s. He says something, and Other-Steve laughs before shaking his head and standing up, grabbing the silver box from the table.

“I can’t,” he can be heard saying from across the room. “I - I’m sorry, but I-”

He runs for the elevators and hits the call button; and Bucky watches him go from the couch.

“What happened?” Steve demands, jogging to sit with Bucky. His fiance looks heartbroken, and tears are swimming in his eyes. “What the fuck did he say to you?’

“What happened?” Steve asks again, ready to knock his own ass out if he has to.

“He said,” Bucky shakes his head again, looking impossibly sad. “He said that in his universe, it wasn’t like that… at least for me it wasn’t like that. That even before the - the chair,” And Bucky’s eyes tense uncomfortably at the word, Steve’s hand goes to cover his in gentle comfort. Bucky squeezes his hand before continuing. “Even before his Bucky fell, it wasn’t like that. He said he loved Bucky for so long it was part of his DNA, but I wasn’t - I’m not queer in his universe.”

Bucky lets out something that sounds like a sob. “He sounds like he hates himself for loving me.”

“That’s not possible.” Steve strokes his hair back.

“I tried to tell him,” Bucky says with a sniff, “That if I was able to fall in love with you less than a month after we met, I couldn’t even imagine what his Bucky was able to feel after a century, and he - he told me that it wouldn’t be like that, so that was why he - he wasn’t ever going back to his timeline.”

“He what?” Steve stares at Tony, who’s walked over to them by this point. “What do you mean, Buck?”

“He’s going back to 1943, and he’s going to live out the rest of his life with Peggy Carter.” Bucky wipes his eyes. “His Bucky won’t ever know where he went, and he thinks it’s for the best. He said,” he hiccups, and Steve kisses his forehead worriedly, stroking his hair for good measure until Bucky’s breathing evens out. “That you and I didn’t grow up together here, and I’m so much better of - so he thinks he’s, he’s like a fucking poison to his Bucky or something, and I -”

“Go talk to him,” Tony urges Steve. “I’ll sit with our Buckaroo.” When Steve doesn’t move, he taps him with his foot. “Go on.”

“Are you okay?” Steve asks Bucky, who sniffs again and offers him a watery smile.

“Go talk to yourself,” Bucky says, laughing brokenly. “You’re the only one that asshole will listen to. Stubborn jackass.”

“Hey, I resemble that statement,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand one last time before standing.

Bucky leans into Tony’s side immediately after he sits down, and Tony doesn’t say a word about Tom Ford suits as Bucky buries his tear-stained face in his shoulder. Tony waves a dismissive hand at Steve, who takes several deep breaths before stepping onto the elevator.

He almost asks JARVIS where he went before he realizes he knows exactly where he is. The ride down is too quick for him to get his thoughts together, and all too soon he’s walking out onto the gym floor.

The rhythmic sound of striking a punching bag greets him as he walks towards the back of the gym.

“It’s just me,” Steve calls out when the sound falters. “I think we need to talk.”

“We already did,” Other-Steve grunts, and he starts up with the punching bag again. “Nothing more to say.”

“Then why the hell are you still here?” 

He turns the corner around the stacked mats Clint uses for tumbling practice, and sees the alternate universe version of himself gripping the punching bag, the lines of his body tense in the suit. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“Start with what you do know.” Steve leans against the mats and crosses his arms. 

“Do you regret leaving the shield behind?” Other-Steve counters instead of answering. “Do you regret not fighting?”

“Not at all.” Steve shrugs when he’s met with a look of incredulity; it’s a look Bucky calls his  _ fuck you and your bad opinions  _ expression, and it’s not pleasant to be on the receiving end of it. He probably has some apologies to make after this. “It was hard at first, but - I’m building a life now, one that I’m proud of, and I can’t regret that.”

“You don’t feel guilty for stepping down?” Other-Steve’s hands are torn to shreds from the punching bag, and Steve watches the skin knit back together. It’s uncomfortable watching it happen to somebody else, even if that someone is himself technically.

“No.” Steve stares even at himself, but with more kindness than he’d look into the mirror. “No, I was still fighting because I felt guilty. I let that go, and I’m not looking back.”

Other-Steve laughs and shakes his head. “So you understand why I want to go back and fix things with Pegs.”

“I certainly fucking don’t,” Steve retorts, and they glare at each other for a moment.

“You get to build a life, and I don’t?” Other-Steve demands, and for a wild second, Steve thinks he’ll take a swing at him. “That’s hardly fuckin’ fair-”

“You wouldn’t be building a life,” Steve snaps, “You’d be stealing one.”

“Stealing-”

“Daniel Sousa.” 

Other-Steve’s mouth snaps shut, and Steve pushes onward as viciously as he would in any other fight. 

“Peggy didn’t marry Dan in your universe?”

“...Dan.” 

Not a question. More like a whispered recollection, judging by the way Other-Steve’s eyes slide shut. 

“Peggy didn’t choose to hang her life up when we died. She lived her life, and you have to respect that.”

“It would make a new timeline,” Other-Steve says desperately. “She’d still have Dan in her old one, but she could - we could have a  _ chance _ .”

“You did have a chance,” Steve lets out a pained breath. “We had one. And I’m sure you loved her as much as I did, but Peggy is a fucking  _ person,  _ not a chance. She isn’t some escape option for you, and tell me whatever the fuck happened in your universe to make you like this didn’t make you cruel enough to think stealing Peggy’s choices from her can be a good thing.”

Other-Steve’s shoulders sag entirely, and he collapses against the mats not too far from Steve. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Steve snorts again. “I’m always right. And when you get your head screwed on right, you can be right again too.”

“Asshole.”

“Takes one to know one.” 

They both smile and stare up at the ceiling at that, and Steve clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Were you going back to Peggy because you thought it was a sure thing?”

“...What do you mean?”

“I mean, were you going back because you knew you’d get a happy ending out of it? Because it was the safest choice?”

Other-Steve doesn’t answer, and when Steve looks over at him, he can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, brow furrowed. 

“She deserves more than that,” Steve whispers, and Other-Steve nods, his ears pink. “And you do too.”

“It’s the fucking Stones,” Other-Steve whispers. “I’m supposed to return them and then go back, but they had me thinking - maybe, maybe I could have my own happy ending ... “ he hangs his head and groans, “I’m a selfish bastard.”

“You are.” Steve shrugs and fights the urge to punch his own shoulder. “That’s pretty consistent between our worlds, I think.”

“Wish everything was,” Other-Steve says so quietly, it’s more breath than sound. 

“Give your Bucky a chance,” Steve counters. “Sounds like he’s been through hell and back, but it also sounds like he’s still there next to your sorry ass.”

“I would have burnt down the world for him,” Other-Steve murmurs. “He’ll never look at me like … like your Bucky looks at you, but I burnt down half the world just for him.”

“So you’d give up what’s left of it to return to a world where he’s being tortured?” Steve frowns at him, the pieces not fitting together. “And turn your back on the future where he’s waiting for you?”

“He doesn’t love me like that.” Other-Steve’s shoulders are trembling in his uniform, and Steve thinks it looks looser than it should, like he’s being swallowed whole by it. “And I hate myself for caring that he doesn’t because he gets to have a life now, and I should just be happy about that.”

“Go back to him.” Steve turns and stares at himself sternly. “Go back and tell him how you feel. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“I’m afraid.” Steve knows instinctively that he’s only able to admit that because he’s admitting it to himself. 

“That’s no excuse to go vanishing into a past that stopped being your life a long time ago.”

They stare at each other now in the half-light of the deserted gym, and Other-Steve stands and nods firmly, gripping the container in his hands. 

“I do need to go,” he mutters. “I only get so long in each world, and I think this might have been my last one.”

“Alright.” Steve holds his hand out before remembering that they shouldn’t touch; he pulls it away with a nervous laugh. “I -- good luck out there.”

“You too.” Other-Steve smiles at him, tired and only slightly less broken than before. “And - tell Buck - tell him - congratulations.”

“What for?” Steve asks.

Handles appear on either side of the container, and Other-Steve twists them without looking. “For finding a version of myself that might actually figure out how to deserve him one day.”

There’s a blinding flash of light, and Steve covers his eyes to protect them; when he lowers his hand, Other-Steve is gone, not having left a single trace that he was ever there.

It’s a short, quiet ride back to Brooklyn on his motorcycle, and Bucky holds him tightly the whole way. He doesn’t ask why Steve kisses him so desperately after they park, and they stand in the middle of the sidewalk for several minutes, wrapped around each other as pedestrians weave around them.

Their hands are loosely clasped as they head upstairs, stopping to pick up their mail and a package from the front desk, and a tangible weight is still on their shoulders as they walk into their apartment.

Steve tosses his keys into a bowl before heading to the record player; he picks something from his days as a Howlie, something he could have heard sitting in a bombed-out bar on the front, and smiles as Vera starts to sing.

“Stevie?” 

He turns to see Bucky flipping through the mail they’d collected on their way in, his hips swaying to the music already; Steve walks across the floor, remembering how Other-Steve had been pulled into Bucky’s orbit, smiling, a little wistfully, at the knowledge that every version of himself is helpless to the power of Bucky Barnes.

“What is it, babydoll?”

“What do you think he chose?”

Steve doesn’t have to ask for clarification, but the question stops him in his tracks anyway, and he pauses, five feet away from the love of his life, to think about it a little more. 

* * *

_ Earth-616:  _

_ 2023 A.D. _

_ Upstate New York _

“He should be back by now,” Bruce mutters, smacking the control panel nervously.

Bucky smiles and turns away, and Sam’s hands tighten into fists.

“Wait! I’m getting a reading!” Bruce shouts, and Bucky turns around, eyes wide with a painful hope.

With a great whirring crash, the panels light up one last time, and Steve stumbles back out of the portal, looking even more exhausted than he had half a minute ago.

“Hey,” he wheezes, and the three men waiting for him start to laugh with relief.

“Took you long enough,” Sam whoops, relaxing immediately at the sight of his friend, and Steve grins at him while he walks unsteadily off the dais. “Careful there, old man.”

“Yuck, yuck.” Steve makes a face and grips the railing as he walks down. 

“You came back.” Bucky doesn’t look like he can believe it, and Steve feels his stomach tighten at the expression. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easy.” 

“Good to have you back, Cap.” Bruce chuckles before waving at them and lumbering off towards the main house; he leaves Sam, Steve, and Bucky in the clearing. 

“That reminds me.” Steve unhitches the shield from his harness and hands it to Sam without an ounce of hesitation. “This needs a new owner.”

“Uhhh.” Sam stares at the shield with wide eyes and then up at Steve. “Man, look, I don’t know what you think, but everyone is more than fine if you became Captain America again.”

“I appreciate it,” Steve says evenly, still holding the shield out. “But I’m done fighting. And besides, there’s someone who deserves this a lot more than I do.” He raises his eyebrows when Sam doesn’t move. “I saw a lot of reality out there, Sam, and in every single one, you carried this with a lot more style than I did.”

Sam takes it slowly, sliding his arm into the straps; he holds it against his body, staring down at the shield. “I mean, no one can deny that I have more style than you, but - are you sure?”

“I’m more than sure. Now, if you don’t mind, I sort of need to have a private word with Bucky.” 

He looks meaningfully at Sam - who’d been kind and patient enough to be at his side while he combed the world for Bucky years ago, who was more than smart enough to piece together  _ why  _ Steve was so desperate to find him - and Sam grins evilly, while Bucky just looks a little lost.

“Oh, you’re finally having that private word? Finally?”

“Do you mind?” Steve raises his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugs with a smirk before hefting the shield on his arm. 

They all stare at the way it sits against Sam Wilson’s jacket, at how it settles on his forearm, at how seamlessly he can hold it; and in that moment Steve knows he’ll be a better Captain America than he ever was.

“I think I’ll go throw this at Clint,” Sam says after a minute. “Fucker owes me for Berlin still.”

“You do that,” Steve snorts, his eyes returning to Bucky. 

Right now, he’s holding his flesh hand in his metal one, toying with the tip of his ring finger, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He’s staring at Steve, with all the shyness he never had when asking girls to dance in crowded halls.

_ How had he ever missed that?  _

Sam probably walks away after that, but Steve’s focused completely on his best friend, his pal, his only constant of the last century. 

“Hey,” Steve says again, his voice hoarse at the wonder of it all. 

“You’ve said that.” Bucky smiles though.

It’s a hard won smile, and it hurts around the edges, but Steve thinks it might be a good hurt, now.

“So, you didn’t go back to the war.” Bucky’s still fiddling with his finger, and all Steve can think about is how the silver band had looked on the Other Bucky’s hand. 

“Nah.” Steve clears his throat and takes a subconscious step towards Bucky - he’s relieved when Bucky mirrors him (but that could be an ingrained defensive tactic, left behind by the Soldier - but he can’t think like that, he can’t, he has to give Bucky his choice now). “Had some unfinished business here, it turns out.”

“Oh, is that so?” Bucky tries to smirk, but it lands somewhere on a grimace. “Some other war that I don’t know about?”

“Would you be there fighting it with me if I said yes?” Steve takes another step forward; Bucky does too, and he thinks that the movement isn’t the Soldier, but something older, something more sacred, something made of Brooklyn and home.

“Course I would.” They’re less than two feet apart now, and Bucky’s looking at him straight on, like he hasn’t in years. It starts something aching behind Steve’s heart, and all he can do is nod and try not to blink tears into existence. “I’d follow you into hell if you asked.”

Steve laughs, and the tears come anyway. He shakes them away with a blink and a smile, his eyebrows raised. “Still wanna follow that little guy from Brooklyn, huh?”

“I meant it when I said it,” Bucky says firmly, his eyes clearer than Steve’s, and it feels like a luxury to see the unclouded blue now. “I remember it, Steve, all of it. And I meant it. I’d follow you, and I’d die for you again, and I’d never regret it. I don’t regret it now, anything that’s happened. I’m working on owning it, and,” he pauses, chewing on his bottom lip again, “And I don’t want to be ashamed of my past. I don’t want you to be, either.”

“Ask me again,” Steve says desperately, the ache behind his heart yawning into something more great and terrible than he can contain, something that’s been spreading since he saw James Barnes in the alternate-Earth, happy and healthy and beautiful in love, “Ask me why I came back.”

“Alright.” Bucky nods, looking as though he’s steeling himself, and Steve can’t imagine the anxiety he’s feeling right now; he can only feel his own heart hammering into the speed of light, loud enough that Bucky has to be able to hear it. “Alright, Stevie, I’ll bite. Why did you come back, when your best girl’s waiting for you?”

“Because.” Steve looks at his boots for a long second as though they’ll afford him any kind of strength. “Because my girl isn’t my girl. She had a life, and I shouldn’t take it from her.” Bucky smiles, and it’s still sad, as though he wants to argue with Steve, and Steve wants to  _ scream  _ because how is Bucky not seeing this, why can’t he see how he’s burning alive? 

He swallows again and forces himself to lay it all out on the line. He faced down an army of thousands when he thought all he had was his shield and a hammer. He can face his best friend. 

“And …. My best guy was still here. I came back because I said until the end of the line, Buck, and we haven’t reached the end yet. Not by a long shot.” 

“Stevie.” Bucky’s eyes tighten with pain, and it cuts him to the quick. “I can’t ... “

_ Of course.  _ Steve fell into one dimension where Bucky was also queer - it wouldn’t be his world too. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says in a rush. “It - I know it’s not - it’s not like that for you, I know it never has been, but you - you’re important to me, no matter what, it doesn’t matter if it’s different for you-”

“I can’t ask you to stay here just for me,” Bucky says softly, but his expression is confused now. “If I’m the only reason-”

“You aren’t,” Steve says, frowning now. “There’s Sam, and Wanda, and someone’s gotta make sure that kid from Queens doesn’t kill himself fighting monsters … I have friends here, Buck, a life.”

“Okay.” Bucky holds his arm tightly to his chest, and they both look away, out to the lake where Tony’s memorial is still burning. 

There’s a long minute of quiet, and in the distance, Steve can hear Sam and Clint howling with laughter at something. He smiles at the sound, but he still feels awkward, like when his muscles haven’t fully knitted after an injury. It’s a sense of incompletion, and he’s about to say something when Bucky does for him.

“What did you mean by  _ it’s not like that for me _ ?”

“What?” Steve drags his eyes back to Bucky to find his best friend already staring at him.

“I said, what did you mean by all that, where you said it wasn’t like that for me, it was never like that for me?” Bucky drags a hand through his tied-back hair, knocking some of it loose; a wave falls across his forehead, and as always, Steve’s fingers itch to tuck it back behind his ear. 

“I-” Steve shakes his head, looks away to the water. “I’m a fucking coward,” he mutters.

“Bullshit,” Bucky counters eloquently. “You can tell me anything, Stevie, you know that. Anything you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

Steve closes his eyes and lets out a breath before turning back to him. “I do want to, I do. I guess it’s just - I traveled across the universe to tell you this, and it could change everything. So, I don’t wanna fuck it up too bad.”

“Everything changes all the time.” Bucky shrugs, tucking his hands back in the pockets of his jacket, and Steve tries to ignore how it pulls the material across his shoulders attractively. “Doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

“I…” Steve teeters on the precipice, takes another breath, and steps over it. “I’m queer, Buck.”

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change; it doesn’t soften, doesn’t show surprise, or judgment. He just keeps staring at Steve. 

“That’s what you needed to tell me?” Bucky says when the words stick in Steve’s throat. “That you weren’t going to make a life with Peggy because-”

“No.” Steve shakes his head quickly, frustrated with himself for taking so long with this (but what’s another ninety seconds when it’s taken ninety years?). “No, I loved Pegs, I really did, but I was always in love with-” Bucky’s expression still hasn’t changed, except for what Steve thinks might have been a flicker of pain when he said he loved Pegs (but he’s projecting, of course he is), “God, this was so much easier when it was the other-you.”

“The other-me?” Bucky lifts his eyebrows. 

“Story for another time.” Steve smiles at the treeline before sucking in a breath and summoning the last of his courage. “See, as long as I can remember, Buck, I’ve been so angry. I was angry comin’ out of the womb, my mother used to swear I took a swing at the midwife-”

“-I know, I was there when she told us that story-”

“-And I was angry enough to pick fights in back alleys. And I came crashing into your life, and you helped balance me out, you did, and for a while I stopped bein’ so angry because you were in my corner, but, fuck, I,” Steve drags his hands through his hair, his shoulders heaving, “The angriest I’ve ever been in my life has been because of you.”

“Gee, thanks, pal,” Bucky huffs.

“No!” Steve rips at his hair again until he’s sure it’s standing up, but Bucky’s smiling and doesn’t look too irritated with him. “I - when I found you again, when I heard when they’d done to you - I was so fuckin’ angry - angry at them, angry at SHIELD, angry at myself for not saving you-”

Bucky’s expression really does soften. “That wasn’t your fault, jerk, how could you have-”

“Let me finish. Please.” Bucky nods, and Steve presses on. “I was angry with the Accords, with T’Challa and Tony for not seeing what you’d been through, and angry that I couldn’t pull those damn words out of your head myself-”

“-Always tryin’ to save everyone,” Bucky mutters quietly as though to himself.

“I was angry on the helicarrier, and angry on the bridge, and angry enough to see red when Tony ripped your arm off.” Steve shakes his head and stares at the ground, tears leaking from his eyes with shame, shame for how he’d fought his friend and splintered the group, shame for what he was about to say. “I was angry reading your file, and I was angry trying to find you, but - the angriest I’ve ever been was in 1932.”

“1932?” He doesn’t have to look up to know the way Bucky’s face is screwed up thinking. “What happened then - was that the year Dot stood you up and I took her out instead?”

“No.” Steve rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t look up. Looking up seems to distract him more. “No, that was the year I realized I liked fellas as much as I liked girls.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Steve laughs and finds a blade of grass to focus on near Bucky’s left boot. “I was so angry because I thought - how can I get through this? I was so mad because it was so goddamn unfair, and I kept askin’ myself, how can he not see how much I love him? It ate me up, Buck, and it never stopped eating me up - that I could love someone so much that it became most of who I was, and I was so angry at everything that I’d never get a chance to say it.”

“Say it.” 

Steve startles and looks up; he’d been on such a roll, pouring his guts out, that he’d almost forgotten the certainty of Bucky actually hearing him. 

“Say it?”

“Say what you wanted to say,” Bucky says, eyes intense and unblinking as he commands Steve with an ease that should be disturbing but instead promises relief. “What you wanted to say in 1932 - say it now.”

“I love you.” It’s like a tension he’d forgotten he was holding releases in his body at the same time a weight settles on his shoulders, and Steve clears his throat and says it again, to see if it’s just as liberating a second time. “I love you so fucking much, Buck, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Bucky’s expression, always so neutral these days, cracks slightly, and something feral takes over - Steve swallows at the heat that rushes into his chest at the sight of it, and he rushes through the next part.

“I don’t mean like a friend. I don’t. I love you, and I’ve been waitin’ to tell you that since nineteen-fuckin’-thirty-two, so I’m tellin’ you now. I traveled through time and space to tell you, and I can say, with a hundred percent accuracy, that I love you in every possible universe, and I’m sorry if that’s an inconvenience-”

“Idiot.” Bucky steps towards him, his hands reaching up to frame his face, and then he’s touching him, cool metal and warm flesh, “You’re an idiot, Rogers.”

“I know,” Steve laughs, but it’s wet. “I really am.”

“Why did I get stuck lovin’ an idiot?” Bucky murmurs, leaning in with a smirk, and Steve has half a second to process what he just said before Bucky’s kissing him, and he gets to kiss Bucky back.

It’s the best damn kiss of his life, Bucky’s mouth warm and soft, his stubble scratching along Steve’s chin, his lips clever and demanding but never forceful. Steve’s spent years wondering what this might feel like, and of course it can’t compare; nothing could compare to kissing Bucky Barnes for real.

When they break apart, Steve smiles into the limited space between them.

“Does that mean you’d wanna give this a try?” Steve asks hopefully. He hopes it doesn’t sound as selfish as it feels, but he’s traveled across dimensions for this chance. 

“How many times do I gotta call you idiot in one day?” Bucky kisses him again, sweetly this time, his hands still soft on Steve’s face. “I’ve been in love with you since I pulled you outta that goddamn trash can, I swear to God, Rogers, the brain on you-”

“Oh.” Steve presses his forehead to Bucky’s and laughs again. “Oh, that’s good.”

“That’s good, he says, Jesus Christ-”

Steve kisses him again to get him to stop teasing him, and the setting sun is warm on his face but it’s nothing compared to the heat that’s blossomed in his chest, hot and real, promising to never go away now that Bucky Barnes knows that Steve Rogers loves him, and somehow, somehow, he loves him too.

* * *

_ Earth-1228 _

_ June 30, 2017  _

_ Brooklyn, NY _

“Do you think he went back?” Bucky asks while flipping through the junk mail, as if it could ever be a casual question. “Or do you think he went to Peggy anyway?”

Steve’s been thinking that same question the entire way home, and he smiles before taking the mail out of Bucky’s hands and pulling him close; he puts a hand on Bucky’s hip and the other takes his hand, and he starts to sway back and forth.

“I think he chose happiness over guilt,” Steve says after a time, skating his nose along Bucky’s hairline and kissing him lightly at the corner of his jaw. 

Bucky laughs, but it’s shaky. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Steve pulls back from their embrace to look into Bucky’s eyes; almost two years later, and he’s never found anything that shade of blue, never found anything that can knock him out as easily.

“It does, Buck. It really does.”

He closes his eyes and leans in to kiss Bucky, soft and slow the way he always wants to; their feet shuffle through the music as they kiss, swaying back and forth in their living room with nothing but the promise of peace on their minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> endgame who? never met her. If you want an official endgame fix it fic, check out “I Will Show You Fear In a Handful of Dust,” my other stucky endgame fix it fic with a billion percent more angst 
> 
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> xoxox


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